


Here's a Man in Evenin' Clothes

by halfabreath



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Epikegster, M/M, Mentions of Kent Parson - Freeform, mentions of Kent/Jack, mentions of rpf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 16:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11763429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfabreath/pseuds/halfabreath
Summary: Ransom's estimating that they've got another 3.75 hours until the last people trickle out of the Haus.3.75 hours, 225 minutes.Holster grins, flushed and disheveled and handsome as Justin has ever seen him, and suddenly he knows he's not going to be able to wait another 225 minutes before kissing him.Or: Epikegster toga porn





	Here's a Man in Evenin' Clothes

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Quidhitch and cheered on by Omgpieplease. 
> 
> Here's a man in evenin' clothes  
> How he got here, I don't know, but  
> Man, you oughta see him go  
> Twistin' the night away  
> -"Twisin' the Night Away" by Sam Cooke, as heard in National Lampoon's Animal House

There are few people as attuned to the life and death of the Great North American Kegster as Ransom. He doesn't even have to run upstairs to grab his laptop to calculate how much longer the party is going to last - judging from the tub juice consumption, line for the beer pong table, and the sudden appearance of Kent Motherfucking (or Fatherfucking, he’s heard the rumors) Parson, Ransom's estimating that they've got another 3.75 hours until the last people trickle out of the Haus.   
  
3.75 hours, 225 minutes.   
  
He glances over at Holster, who looks up from his beer to meet Ransom's gaze because he somehow always knows when he's being watched. He grins, flushed and disheveled and handsome as Justin has ever seen him, and suddenly he knows he's not going to be able to wait another 225 minutes before kissing him.    
  
"Holtzy, I think we need more ice." He calls, yelling so his voice can be heard over the thudding bass. Holster grins and holds up a finger, chugging the rest of his beer in only a few seconds and fuck, why is that something Ransom finds attractive?  He crumples the empty can in his huge hand and tosses it over his shoulder, knowing they'll just clean it up tomorrow morning. They weave through the party together, Holster right behind him, until they come to the hall closet. Ransom slips in first and it feels like years pass before Holster finally follows. When his partner steps in the small room Ransom's on him immediately, pushing him back against the closed door as he kisses him.    
  
Holster tastes like beer and blueberries from the piece of pie they’d shared after their graceful loss to Lardo in pong earlier in the party, and there’s a hint of vodka on the corner of his mouth because he’s the sloppiest shot-taker on earth but it’s good, it’s so good, and Ransom groans when Holster slips his hands under the back of his shirt. He pulls up the white fabric of Holster's toga in retaliation, gathering it up in his fists. He has to reach down again and again and breaks the kiss with a frustrated huff when his efforts only yield more fabric. Ransom whines, leaning his forehead against Holster's bare shoulder while his boyfriend, that asshole, just laughs at him.   
  
"How is it you can solve a chemical equation but you can't figure out where my dick is?" Holster’s words vibrate in his chest, his smile bright in the dim light of the room.

Ransom rolls his eyes. "No one hides chemical equations under a million fucking meters of toga!" He protests, taking a step back to get another look. He manages to track some of the flowing lines of Holster’s outfit but is pulled back in before he can make any real progress.   


Holster holds him tight, pressing short kisses over Ransom’s cheeks and nose, unconcerned with Ransom’s failed efforts. "The ancient Romans definitely did." He mumbles between kisses, a stupid, handsome smile on his stupid, handsome face. He’s not being helpful  _ at all _ .

  
Ransom cranes his head to the side, trying to get a better look at the toga to figure out where to pull to get the damn thing off, but Holster just continues kissing him, now working his way down the side of his neck until he reaches the collar of his shirt. "Holtzy," Ransom says, tugging at a swathe of fabric gathered near Holster’s hip in an attempt to get his attention. 

  
Holster continues with his work, nosing his collar to the side to get access to his shoulder. "I mean,” He says, dragging his lips across Ransom’s trapezius muscle, almost down to his acromion. “It was technically alchemy but,"   


Ransom cuts him off before he can begin his tangent, which will inevitably end with a recap of the series finale of  _ Rome _ . "Holtzy." Luckily, there’s something in his voice that finally, finally makes Holster loosen his grip, and Ransom has two glorious seconds to pull at the white fabric before Holster switches their positions.

  
"Ok, fine, here." Holster hops up to sit on one of the stacks of boxes, his weight forcing the cardboard to sink an inch or two, and Ransom finally knows what it’s like to be the taller one. He looks down as Holster pulls up the fabric, revealing his long, strong legs a little bit at a time. Ransom impatiently presses closer and closer until he's standing between Holster's spread legs, the fabric of the toga bunched up between them. It's hot and humid in the closet but he can feel the vibrations of the crowd walking through the Haus, he can hear the cheers from the pong tournament, and best of all there's enough light to see Holster's face just before he kisses him, soft and sweet and not at all like how two frat boys hiding in a closet in the middle of a crowded party would be expected to kiss. 

_ They’re _ not what anyone expects, and that’s not the reason why he loves Holster but it’s satisfying, in a strange way.

Holster's got both hands tangled in the sheet he's wearing and Ransom takes advantage by sliding his hands up his thighs, digging his nails in just the way Holster likes it. He’s rewarded with a deep, shuddering gasp and Holster’s strong hands gripping his hips tightly just the way  _ he _ likes it. Ransom presses close, tucking his face in Holster's neck as he slides his hand underneath the white fabric. Holster's breach catches, a small thing that Ransom feels more than hears when Justin's fingers brush against the hard line in his briefs (well, probably Ransom's briefs - he’s reasonably sure they’re his).   
  
He rubs the heel of his palm over Holster’s cock, his lips brushing his boyfriend’s overheated skin as he speaks. "Already? We've been in here for like twenty seconds." Ransom chirps, punctuating the words with a sharp bite. Holster jerks beneath him, hands scrambling over Ransom’s back. He sucks over the bite mark he’d just left, knowing it won’t take much to bruise Holster’s sensitive skin.

  
"Shut up," Holster says, looking up at the ceiling. There’s something in his voice that gives Ransom pause, so he pulls back to press small, wet kisses along the column of his throat in retaliation for Holster’s earlier ministrations. 

  
"I'm just saying,” Ransom replies between kisses. “It's impressive you're already ready to go in your old age.” He thinks it’ll get a laugh, but instead Holster leans back, the exact opposite way he should be leaning. 

"C'mon, Rans - " Holster protests, and there it is again, that tone that Ransom, as well as he knows him, can’t quite place. It’s similar to how he sounds when Mrs. Birkholtz asks if he’s dating anyone, and it’s almost how he’d sounded when he’d talked about why he hadn’t made the Draft straight out of Juniors. 

Ransom pulls back, studying his boyfriend’s face carefully. "You're embarrassed.” He says slowly, putting it together. “You're never embarrassed." This is a guy who sang showtunes in the communal shower during the first week of practice freshman year, who regaled them all with tales of his disastrous hookups, who eats at least ten hard boiled eggs for breakfast each morning, who regularly speaks at full volume in the library. Adam Birkholtz has no shame, but he’s somehow embarrassed by this? Ransom can’t make sense of it.

  
Holster shakes his head weakly. "I'm not!" He protests, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from the ceiling, and Ransom’s never seen him like this. He’s almost  _ shy _ , which is the most un-Holster thing he’s ever witnessed. He racks his brain for any clues. It had been a fairly normal, if exceedingly epic, Kegster until Kent Parson showed up and for a moment Ransom thinks it might be a Parson Boner, but Holster hadn’t seemed turned on or overwhelmed when they’d taken a picture with him. He’d even been more excited to talk about the fanfiction they’d discovered freshman year, and it’s the memory of the flush that had spread from Holster’s cheeks down to his chest as he’d skimmed their old favorites that finally helps him realize what’s going on.

  
"Adam Birkholtz, is this a fanfic boner?" Holster protests, but the same blush returns to confirm Ransom’s suspicions. "Oh my god, dude, it is!" 

  
"Yeah, I'm leaving; you can find someone else to hook up with." The worst part isn’t how small Holster’s voice sounds, it’s that he actually gets up and almost makes it to the door before Ransom wraps one arm around his waist and braces his free hand against the door, making sure it stays firmly shut. Holster doesn’t fight him but doesn’t turn around, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the closed door. Ransom turns the lock quickly before he can change his mind again. 

  
"No, Holtzy, I'm sorry. I wasn't making fun of you." He wraps his arms around Holster's torso, feeling his muscles shift under his skin as he breathes. "Ok, I was totally making fun of you. But if you're the guy with the fanfic boner, I'm the guy who's about to blow the fanfic boner guy, which is arguably worse." That, at least, makes Holster laugh, and Ransom presses a line of kisses down his spine before continuing, knowing he can't leave what Holster said unaddressed. "And I don't want anyone else. We talked about this."    


“I know. I didn’t mean it.” Holster turns in his arms, settling against the door before reaching out to adjust Ransom’s laurels. He cups Ransom’s cheek, tilting his head before kissing him gently. The world rights itself, and soon enough the kiss turns harder, deeper, and they’re both panting when they pull apart. Holster’s smiling again, that smug  _ I know I’m about to get some _ grin, and Ransom knows he’s going to wiggle his eyebrows like an idiot in about three seconds if he doesn’t kiss him again, so he does. Holster groans, low and deep and barely audible above the bass that’s seeping through the thin walls of the closet. When they break apart he slides his hand down Ransom’s neck and chest, settling it over his heart. "Who says I even want a blowjob from you?” He mumbles, the chirp rendered ineffective by the smitten look on his face. “You're super fucking mean." His hand closes around the fabric of Ransom’s shirt.   


Ransom laughs, sliding his hands down Holster’s sides until he hits the toga. "You aren't going to think that in about thirty seconds,” he promises, gathering up the white fabric in his hands. Even though he can see exactly how the fabric hangs every time he gathers a fistful of fabric he has to drop it to try to pull up another bit of cloth. His movements grow more and more frantic as he tries and fails to get the fabric out of the way, and Holster, for his part, continues to be absolutely fucking useless. He stands there and laughs as Ransom tries to find wherever his legs are hiding, draped beneath meters of fabric.   


Holster’s still laughing when Ransom drops to his knees and ducks under his toga and as much as Ransom loves the sound, he can’t help the satisfaction he feels when it suddenly cuts off the moment he pulls Holster’s underwear down (and yeah, looking at them up close they’re  _ definitely _ his, but Ransom’s the one who suggested the matching sunglasses so they’re even).

  
Usually, Ransom will take his time. He likes to let Holster know exactly what he’s in for, give him a preview of just how long he’s going to drag it out, but today he can’t stand the thought of wasting any more time. He holds Holster’s cock steady with one hand, gripping his thigh with the other for balance, and licks a broad strip over the head. 

Holster goes still, the muscles in his thighs and lower abdomen tensing. Ransom can barely see the movement of his muscles shifting under his skin; it’s darker under the toga than he’d anticipated. There’s a small strip of light that falls on the short, blonde curls at the base of Holster’s dick, precisely where his nose would brush if he could actually deepthroat, but he’s working on it. Speaking of - he takes a deep breath through his nose (all he can smell is  _ Holster, Holster, Holster _ ) and carefully closes his mouth around his boyfriend’s cock, moving forward until his gag reflex kicks in and he has to pull off with a wet cough. His eyes water, and he wipes the inadvertent tears away just before the thin band of light expands as Holster pulls the toga away from his body. The waist hole is bigger than Ransom had thought, and the dim light of the closet suddenly seems bright compared to the darkness his eyes had adjusted to.

“Okay?” Holster asks, and his thick eyebrows are furrowed with worry, and fuck, that’s not how he’s supposed to look during a blowjob.

Ransom nods, giving him a quick thumbs up with his free hand, before licking a broad strip down the side of Holster’s cock. He drags it out, knowing full well that Holster’s eyes are locked on him. His own eyes slip shut as he works his way up, then down again, repeating the pattern until he’s satisfied with the soft moans spilling from Holster’s lips. 

When he opens his eyes again he finds Holster staring down at him with a rare intensity. He winks, thinking it’ll be funny, but instead Holster shudders and tears his gaze away to stare resolutely at the ceiling, as if looking down at Ransom for another second is unbearable. 

Ransom hadn’t realized he was so close. He pumps his hand, removing his lips altogether as he takes a minute to catch his breath and give Holster a chance to collect himself before he sinks his mouth back down. He advances until his lips reach his knuckles, squeezing and twisting the hand he has wrapped around the shaft. 

Everything’s slick with spit and precum and Holster’s looking down at him with hooded eyes. His mouth, still red from kissing, is hanging open as he gasps and groans and his cheeks are flushed a gorgeous shade of pink Ransom can still see clearly even in the dull light. He’s tempted to wink again, just to see what would happen, but instead he wraps his hand around Holster’s leg, skimming his fingers along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. He’s sensitive here, Ransom has discovered, and he lets out an honest to God whimper when Ransom scrapes his nails along the corded muscles. 

Holster makes a choked off sound, something that vaguely resembles his name, and Ransom recognizes it as a warning. He doesn’t pull back and the next thing he knows Holster’s shuddering, biting his own hand to keep from making too much noise, and Ransom’s mouth is suddenly more full than it was before.

When he finally finishes swallowing - it always takes longer than he thinks it will - Holster’s thighs are trembling. Ransom presses a kiss to one, then the other, before pulling Holster’s (his, he can literally see J.O. written in the waistband) underwear back up. He takes his time, adjusting the waistband over his boyfriend’s heaving stomach, moving the elastic this way and that until it lays perfectly straight. When he looks up Holster is leaning back against the door looking absolutely  _ wrecked _ , and Ransom can’t in good conscious go without kissing him for a second longer. 

He reaches up through the waist hole, standing straight up once he sees how much give it has, and the next thing he knows he’s technically wearing the toga, too, their bodies pressed together in the cocoon of fabric. Holster opens his eyes and jots back when Ransom’s face is suddenly a few millimeters away from him, his head thudding against the door with a hollow  _ thunk _ . 

“Holy shit, Ransom.” He says, still out of breath. “Where the fuck did you come from?” Ransom knows he needs to be nice but fuck, there are so many things he could say in response to that. He settles his hands on Holster’s sides only to sweep them up and over his chest, dragging his fingers over every inch of him he’s been forced to see but not touch the entire evening. 

“Careful, babe. So many chirps, so little time.” He presses his erection into Holster’s hip, unsubtle and shameless as can be, and he can feel every contraction of Holster’s abs as he laughs. He doesn’t have to move far to press their lips together. 

Holster kisses him until the taste of salt and brine is gone and all he can taste are his partner’s tongue and lips. It’s stuffy in the closet and ridiculously difficult to move in a shared toga, but even just kissing Holster is turning him on. Ransom can’t help the small, aborted movements of his hips, thrusting weakly against Holster’s solid frame without the ability to move fully. 

Holster, now recovered, grips his hip through the toga. “If you get out of here I can help you with that.” He says, but Ransom just shakes his head. 

“Hell no, I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going to get tangled up in this thing and by the time you get me out the Kegster will be over.” He’s about to undo his pants and jerk himself off, desperate as he is, when Holster suddenly takes off Ransom’s sunglasses and tosses them to the ground. Ransom’s protest is cut off by Holster’s huge hand on his head, pushing him down through the hole until he’s back on his knees, crouched between Holster’s legs. 

“What the  _ fuck? _ ” He protests, disoriented, but before he can say anything else he gets a mouthful of fabric. He spits it out, about to start clawing at the pall of toga surrounding him, when he’s suddenly free. He looks up at Holster in surprise, unsure of how he managed it, and slowly stands. The room feels huge, now that he’s not wrapped up like a human burrito with the only person he knows who’s bigger and broader than he is, but before he can fully get his bearings Holster is on him again. 

He takes a step and a half back until his calves hit the boxes Holster had sat on earlier, and he leans against them as his partner kisses him deeply. He digs his fingers into his partner’s shoulder when Holster’s tongue sweeps over the seam of his lips. Ransom can hear himself groaning, but the sound is secondary to the sensation of Holster finally putting his giant teeth to good use and nibbles on Ransom’s bottom lip, sucking and biting before diving back in for another kiss.

Ransom isn’t very good at multitasking even when he isn’t so turned on he’s about to explode, so by the time he can focus on anything besides licking the back of Holster’s teeth the buttons of his shirt have already been undone. Ransom breaks the kiss just as Holster’s hands skim along his ribs, down to his waist, and he watches in confusion as Holster finally undoes the button of his shorts.

“Dude, why’d you have to unbutton my entire shirt?” He asks, a little annoyed he’ll have to take the time to get dressed again before they return to the party.

Grinning, Holster sinks to his knees and pulls down his shorts in one smooth motion. “I like the view,” he says simply, sounding nonchalant even as he licks his palm and wraps his hand around Ransom’s cock. It’s really not fair, how he was absolutely wrecked a second ago but is now so calm and collected as he jacks Ransom two, three times before leaning forward to swallow him down like it’s  _ nothing _ . He makes it look so easy,  _ too _ easy, and Ransom wants to wreck him a little more before they go back out to the party. 

He places his hand on the back of Holster’s head, gently at first, then with more pressure after he feels Holster’s hum of approval vibrates around him. The sunglasses clatter to the floor when Ransom brushes his fingers through Holster’s short hair, petting over his scalp before taking a firmer grip when he takes over. He holds Holster’s head in place and Holster doesn’t fight him, staying exactly where Ransom decides for as long as he decides it, and there’s a reason Ransom like it so much but he doesn’t have the time or the wherewithal to deal with it now, so he pulls Holster’s head back and then down again, setting an easy rhythm for Holster to track. It’s a shame - he can barely hear the wet sound of his cock hitting the back of Holster’s throat. It’s such a prominent sound when they’re in the attic, so loud that Ransom’s sometimes worried the entire Haus can hear even though he logically knows there’s no feasible way it carries down the stairs, but now it’s dwarfed by the music and background cacophony of the party. 

He’s drawn from his thoughts by Holster’s hand squeezing his hip, and he immediately relieves the pressure and allows Holster to pull back. He combs his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair, slumping back against the boxes.

Holster coughs once, then looks up at him through his lashes. “Bro, you were a sixteenth note off. It was driving me crazy.” His voice is scratchy and hoarse, the sound of it sends a bolt of arousal directly to Ransom’s cock. 

“What?” He asks, blinking down at his boyfriend. It’s difficult to concentrate when Holster’s still lazily tracing his thumb over the head of his dick, looking up at him with red cheeks and a broad smile.

“The song, bro! It should have been like, buh, buh, buh, buh.” He seamlessly begins to pump his hand exactly as the bass pulses, popping his lips to accompany the sound. Ransom’s eyes roll back in his head from the sensation of Holster’s hand and how his lips brush against the head of Ransom’s cock with every burst of sound. “But you were like -- buh, buh, buh, buh.” Holster pauses then resumes the motion of his hand, this time a half second before the beat thuds through the walls. Ransom’s grip tightens in Holster’s hair as he tries to catch his breath. “It was really fucking distracting.”

Ransom rolls his eyes, still panting. “Holtzy!” He tries to protest with some dignity, but the sound comes out as a whine. Holster immediately matches his expression, halting the movement of his hand as he shakes his head.

“You don’t get to complain! Not when you started mumbling about beta-Carotene when I was fingering you like three days ago.” Holster reminds him, and Ransom flushes at the memory of mumbling some stream of consciousness bullshit into the pillow he’d been biting to muffle his moans. Still, between his skin and the dim light, there’s no way Holster can see how dark his cheeks have gotten.

He tugs on Holster’s hair, his other hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “I had a test the next day!” Ransom explains, knowing it doesn’t justify his actions fully.

Holster just nods, though. “Which you aced, thanks to me and my fingers.” He immediately shoots back, looking up at Ransom with a smug expression on his face. Ransom huffs and shakes his head.

“I didn’t ace it, I got like a ninety-four.” Ransom explains, and Holster's dramatic sigh sends a burst of air across his cock. He has to bite his lip to keep from moaning, but Holster’s so dedicated to his long, obnoxious eye-roll that he doesn’t notice.

“Justin, I love you, but just take the fucking A and let me get back to blowing you.” Holster orders, and Ransom doesn’t have time to respond before he’s sinking his mouth over his dick. Arousal pools in his stomach, not just from the blowjob, but from hearing his first name come out of Holster’s lips, no matter how annoyed he’d sounded. 

_ Justin, I love you _ , echoes in his head, and he has to uncurl his hand from Holster’s shoulder to steady himself against the boxes. The rough cardboard edge digs into his palm but he only squeezes tighter, needing to steady himself against something as Holster’s head bobs between his legs. He doesn’t guide the motion anymore, but he occasionally tugs Holster’s hair this way and that, wordlessly telling him what he wants. Holster is responsive as ever, pushing himself forward until his nose brushes Ransom’s abdomen, then moving back to trace patterns on the exposed head of his cock with his tongue when he’s directed back. 

When he goes too long without pulling, Holster takes charge again. He braces his hands on Ransom’s hips, pressing his thumbs in hard enough to bruise. It’s exactly what Ransom wants, what he needs, and Holster’s names tumble from his lips again and again, filthy and adoring.

Then, Holster’s swallowing around him and Ransom’s so close he can feel himself shaking and it’s almost enough, he’s  _ right there _ and then Holster presses the pad of his thumb behind his balls and there’s a deep sensation and it almost feels like he’s  _ inside _ and it’s that, feeling like Holster is everywhere, around and in and overwhelming that sends him toppling over the edge. He manages to tug Holster’s hair in warning but his partner doesn’t pull back, staying precisely where he is even as Ransom curls over him when he comes. 

They both ease themselves down because Ransom has to delegate his remaining brainpower between pulling up his pants and standing, and he chooses the former. Holster sprawls back against the door and Ransom leans sideways against his chest, their long legs bent in the tiny space. Ransom’s suddenly too tired to move but he wants to kiss again, because as much as he teases Holster for needing a post orgasm smooch he’s exactly the same way, and he weakly tugs on the toga to get his partner’s attention. Holster shifts, untangling his arm from the sheet to cradle the back of Ransom’s head before kissing him softly, and Ransom finds the strength to cup his face to guide him back in for a second kiss, a third, a fourth, until he loses count. 

Holster glides his hand up and down Ransom’s side lazily, occasionally pausing to trace his fingers over the lines of his ribs or muscles Ransom’s too sleepy to name (no, he’s not, Holster’s currently running his thumb over his abdominal external oblique, from the Latin  _ obliquus _ , meaning slanting or sidelong, now he’s skimming his hand up along the latissimus dorsi and serratus posterior superior, to his deltoid and tricep, travelling over bone and sinew until he finally cups his hand over the back of Ransom’s as it rests on his cheek).

“Babe,” Holster’s voice is rough but his tone is fond, the pet name slipping easily from his lips. “I can hear you thinking and it’s fucking exhausting.”

Before Ransom can reply the world behind the door explodes with a sudden cheer, and the blanket of noise around them suddenly slips back into sharp focus. Ransom’s suddenly aware of the squeaking of the steps above them, the loud music, and how his legs are beginning to fall asleep. Groaning, he pushes himself up to his feet, careful not to step on the sprawl of Holster’s legs, and begins to slowly put himself back together. Holster gropes along the floor until he finds both pairs of sunglasses and gathers up his toga before standing. He pulls it this way and that, trying to adjust it properly, and even after Ransom has finished buttoning up he’s still trying to figure out why it isn’t hanging properly.

Ransom tilts his head to the side, tracking the drapes and bunches of the fabric. “Dude, it’s like - it’s tucked into your briefs.” He steps across the small space, tugging gently on the fabric until it comes free and falls back into place. Of course, now he’s suddenly able to make sense of the stupid garment. 

“Your briefs, technically.” Holster says sheepishly, making sure the fabric is pulled tightly around his hips. It’s a miracle it hadn’t fallen off when he was kneeling, stretched out as it was from having both their bodies squeezed inside the folded fabric.

Ransom steps into Holster’s space, rocking up to press a soft kiss on the hinge of his jaw. “Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice.” He murmurs. Ransom plucks the second pair of sunglasses from Holster’s hand and places them on his head. 

“There. How do I look?” Holster asks, having just settled the fabric draped over his chest. His hair is obviously mussed and there are red splotches on his shoulders from where Ransom’s fingers had dug in, not to mention the obvious hickey he’s sporting. Ransom tugs him closer by the front of his toga and carefully pats his hair down, adjusting the sunglasses and laurels so they match perfectly. 

“You officially look like you just hooked up.” Ransom says honestly, lifting his shoulder in a little shrug. It’s common enough at these parties - expected, even. It won’t go unnoticed, but it definitely won’t be questioned. Holster just nods, accepting his fate.

“This administration believes in transparency.” Holster immediately slips into his authoritative persona, the one he uses after he watches too much  _ House of Cards _ and whenever they’re in court.

Ransom laughs, because he always does, and holds his arms out to the side so Holster can get a good look at him. “How about me?”

Holster takes his time, looking at him from head to toe to head again.“The same, but devilishly handsome.” He says definitively, with no room for argument. Ransom slips around him, unlocking the door deftly. 

“First of all, Holster, the devil is white. And second, bye!” He says, quoting the most memorable line from one of the hundreds of episodes Holster has made him watch over the years. 

He can hear Holster’s booming laughter even after he sneaks out and closes the closet door behind him. It’s not the most subtle tryst they’ve had but Ransom doesn’t regret a second of it. He pauses in front of the drink table to check his phone, unsurprised to see that they were sequestered away for about forty minutes. Not quite long enough to be suspicious, but definitely enough time that they’ll have to make appearances around the party to make up for it. 

Holster appears behind him and wraps an arm around his waist, picking him up and gently placing him to the side so he’s no longer blocking the drink table. He throws a grin over his shoulder, the flush still high in his cheeks.

3.02 hours, 182.40 minutes.

Suddenly he knows he's not going to be able to wait another 182.40 minutes before kissing him again.


End file.
